Hello Bubbly, have you done it?”
“What do you mean by what? The only thing that everyone’s doing at the Mecca of the Moment.”
“Do you mean going to Sonu’s 50th b’day party or the parlour in preparation? I went yesterday and got all my beautifying done. Waxing, mani-pedi, the works. It’s the first time in over 20 years that I didn’t pay with cash. It really pinched, I tell you. I almost didn’t tip anyone.”
“Ugh, I know what you mean. I used to tip the Silhouette girls 500 bucks a job; I’ve brought it down to 50. Let them also learn what it is to be broke… But I wasn’t talking about the parlour or the party (though I’m going, of course). I was referring to the bank.”
“I don’t need money. Bunty had a word with our manager the other night; and he sent some chappie over with a 2,000 ki gaddi for me. I’m banned from spending any of it, but at least I’m not feeling insecure anymore. And I don’t need to jostle with the Great Unwashed. I adore Modi but I don’t know what that man was thinking. You know what I mean?”
“Totally. By bank, I meant the locker. Don’t you need to remove the you-know-what from yours, before the government seizes the lockers, or forces us to open them for inspection? I’ve cleaned out mine, as have most of my friends. We had to, given the ridiculous limits set for the amount of gold that we can own: 100 gram per male, 250 gram per unmarried female and 500 gram for married female. Idiots! 250 gm—as if it’s chana garam we’re talking about. Anyway, why should I have less gold than you just because I’m unmarried?
Shouldn’t it be the reverse? Don’t I need more security?”
“Bunty says it’s about streedhan. Also, that heirlooms won’t be touched.”
“More fool he. How will he prove that you didn’t buy your jewellery but got it from your daadi? It’s not an oil painting, with a provenance certificate. Till recently no jeweller even offered a bill. I’ve certainly never asked for one. Don’t tell me you have.”
“No bills. No provo-whatever either.”
“Then? My CA says none of us is safe. I know the silly government, after citing those crazy numbers, says there’s no limit on the jewellery we can own provided we can explain where it came from. But that’s bakwaas. I suggest you go immediately and get your gold, I mean stuff, out of your locker… And listen, don’t doll up. Just wear a simple tee and tracks and don’t look at the CCTV.
“But I’ll have to look to see where it is, wont I?”
“Oof, just don’t look up. Make eye contact only with the guy at the counter. But don’t look sly either. Try to blend in. Got it?”
“I think so. Simple, not sly. Should I carry the big LV bag I take to the gym? It holds a lot.”
“Are you retarded? Just borrow your maid’s handbag. What brand does she use?”